


Name

by moboe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel (relationship), Drabble, M/M, POV Dean, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moboe/pseuds/moboe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean never liked his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this is the first thing I've ever written in 1st-person POV. Okay, well, that's a lie, but it's the first "fic" I've ever written in 1st-person. I don't know if you guys will like it--I mean, it's hella sappy (and hella short, sorry guys)--but I wrote it a while ago and thought I should share it. I thought about putting it in verse, but decided against it. Please leave comments! <3

I never really liked my name. I know for whom I am named—my mother’s mother; a grandmother I never had the opportunity of meeting. I know that she was important—in the grand scheme of things. But I never really liked the way my name rolled off my father’s tongue. It was obvious from the amount of disdain laced in his tone that no, it wasn’t just the fifth of whiskey talking, but instead how he really felt. I was unwanted; a burden; a disappointment. 

The small sigh that burst forth from every single one of my teachers’ lips before they said my name (either calling roll, or telling me to pay attention, or reprimanding me for talking too much and respecting too little) only reinforced the belief that the only thing I could possibly accomplish in my life would be annoying and disappointing them for the next year. Every time one would say my name, I would cringe almost imperceptibly. Soon teachers wouldn’t even call me by that godforsaken thing—just a “Hey, you,” and I would know who they were addressing. 

I always hated the way my name slithered between his lips. Like it meant nothing more to him than a profanity he could easily spew at any moment. I loathed the way he would curl his lips and croon it, like he knew how much I needed him in that Hellhole, and how much I couldn’t fight back. Maybe he did know.

I never liked the sound of my name on someone else’s lips until I tasted your breath sighing it into my mouth. I never really liked hearing my name slipping off anyone’s tongue (much like an expletive) until I heard you gasping it against my neck. I never liked anyone addressing me in any manner, until you called for me in a way that told me you needed me. You’re the only one that had ever talked to me that way, and it felt good—to be needed. Especially by you. 

You say my name like it’s your first and last words. You cherish it like it’s something sacred. You say my name like it’s the only name you want to say, and you say it like you know I’m capable of better than I’m doing. Your mouth curls up at the edges as you pronounce each letter with the utmost care, almost as if your tongue was caressing the syllables.

I never really liked my name—until I felt the way you sigh it into my mouth. Until I saw the way your eyes catch a blue flame each time you speak it. And I never had much of an appreciation for names until I learned yours.


End file.
